Counted corpse, p.4
Counted Corpse, page 4
After everyone was seated, Mary did an excellent job of recounting the events of yesterday, of explaining why we needed to halt all the plans, and suggesting a course of action moving forward. Then, before allowing anyone else to speak – and a lot of people had something to say – she asked Santiago to inform them about the status of the house site.
“It’s an active crime scene,” he said, “so as you can expect, we need to keep it closed to everyone except those who need access to evaluate the grounds and study the situation. I know you understand.”
Several of the individuals who had been sitting forward ready to weigh in sat back and nodded. But one man didn’t wait half a second until after Santiago finished before he said, “I need to say something here.”
He was very polished in a fine, three-piece suit and the shiniest dress shoes I’d ever seen. His haircut was crisp and tight to his head, and he had on gold-rimmed glasses that were the perfect complement to his walnut-colored skin. This man looked like he was used to commanding a room.
I braced myself, ready for him to set into the run-down on what the church had gone through to raise the funds and make the plans, but instead, he said, “My family’s graves were plowed through over near Chestnut Heights Plantation. I will never know where they were buried. Because they were slaves, no one marked their graves, no one honored their resting place, and no one respected their lives. We cannot let that happen to anyone who might be buried on ground that we own.”
Mary scribbled on her notepad and turned it slightly toward me. “Demetrius Cleveland, chair,” her note said.
“I’m glad to hear you say that, Demetrius, because I completely agree. I think a lot of us will never know the final resting place of our people because of slavery and Jim Crow. The least we can do here is pass along the honor and respect we wish our ancestors had been given,” Mary said.
Almost every head at the table nodded, and I felt a weight lift. We were, it seemed, in agreement. Now, I felt like I could speak. “I’ve also asked a friend to consult with an architect to see if, need be, the addition could be accommodated in some other way. He’s donating that consultation fee to the church.” I knew Saul would not be asking for any payment, so I felt confident making that assurance.
“Good. Thank you,” Chairman Cleveland said with a nod to me, “So let’s vote. Do I have a motion?”
One woman in a fine purple hat said, “I move that we halt any further action on the proposed church addition, including demolition of the existing manse, until a complete and full study of the site, its history, and the presence of any burials can be conducted.”
I was impressed. She had succinctly and professionally summarized just what Mary had suggested, and a man across the table seconded her motion without hesitation.
When Chairman Cleveland called for the vote, it was unanimous, and Mary audibly sighed when the motion passed and the meeting was adjourned.
As everyone started to get up and go about their day, Santiago said, “There is crime scene tape around the building now because we all know this is going to be news on the gossip train here in town. Would you all mind calling if you see someone on site who isn’t authorized?”
Many of the church members lived on this same block, including Mary, so they would be the best alarm system Santiago could employ.
Several people spoke up and said they would, and then, everyone but Demetrius Cleveland headed toward their cars and, I suspected, some really good food. As my stomach growled, I felt a pang of regret that I wouldn’t be having my usual lunch at Mary’s house today. Her pot roast was out of this world.
“How can I help?” Chairman Cleveland asked Mary as we all milled around the table, not sure what to do next.
Mary smiled. “You did a lot this morning, Demetrius. Thank you. Would you like to join us this afternoon at three?”
“I would like that,” he said, “and let me introduce myself, Paisley. I’ve seen you at services but haven’t made a point of meeting you. I apologize. Demetrius Cleveland.” He put out his hand and gave mine a firm shake.
“It’s nice to meet you,” I said with a smile. “Now, if it’s not too forward and selfish, could we all go get some lunch before our next meeting?”
Demetrius clapped me on the back. “I knew I liked you,” he said. “My treat for burgers at the Pierce Inn?” he asked.
I smiled. “Did you say burgers?” Their veggie burger was incredible, and I made it a habit to never pass up a free lunch.
We all laughed and headed to the historic inn up the street.
4
The chef at the Pierce Inn was a Michelin-star rated superstar, but he also respected his local setting and served up the most amazing burgers alongside the more formal fare.
As we walked the couple of blocks to Main Street, I texted Mika to let her know things had gone well and that I’d keep her posted. She answered immediately, “Great. Busy day here, which is good, but sorry I can’t join you.”
I sent her three smiley emojis and tuned back to the conversation around me. Demetrius was telling us about how he’d come to know where his ancestors on his mother’s side had been enslaved and how much easier it had been to find his father’s family since they were all free people of color. “I mean they were still tracked like property, but at least they had some legal standing.”
I knew just what he meant. I’d done a little genealogical research for some families related to the buildings I’d salvaged from, and it was really hard to find anything about enslaved people at all. “So have you been to Chestnut Ridge?” I asked.
“Not yet, but the new owners have invited my family over. They’re really open to sharing what information they have and learning more about our family,” Demetrius said.
“That’s refreshing,” Mary said. “Sometimes these folks aren’t interested at all, too afraid we’ll up and claim the plantation as our own.”
“And right you could,” I said. “Those places are black places far more than white places if you go back to the sheer numbers of people who have lived there.”
“A woman who appreciates food and speaks the truth,” Demetrius said with a laugh. “We are going to be fast friends.”
Santiago smiled and quickly squeezed my hand. “She is a charmer, this one,” he said.
Demetrius glanced at our clasped hands and gently said, “I’m glad she found someone who appreciates her.”
The host seated us quickly at a table with a view of the mountains beyond, and within minutes, we had our orders in – burgers for everyone, although Demetrius got the black bean burger with extra cheese because he was trying to eat a plant-based diet, he said. “Can’t go without the cheese, though.”
I echoed his earlier words. “I knew I liked you.”
His wonderful laugh bounced around the room, and when Santiago joined him, I realized that this man’s confidence and kindness were just what we needed as we prepared for hard conversations and the truth of historical trauma this afternoon.
“So what are we sharing with Chief Stephenson? Did you say that was her name?” Demetrius asked.
“Right,” Mary answered. “I expect Dr. Harmon will have told her everything we know, so I’m much more interested in what she wants to do. She might want archaeology done, she might not. And I’m not sure whether she’ll think it better to leave the house standing or take it down. I’m hoping we can simply hear what she has to say and do our best to honor it as we move along in next steps to discover if this is indeed a burial ground.”
Demetrius nodded. “I like that plan, and what about Earnestine? It sounds like you all think she might have been murdered for what she told our predecessors.”
Mary glanced at me, and I nodded. “It sounds like it, and if it’s okay with you all, I’d be happy to look into that. See what I can find in the papers, do a little historical research to see if we can find out more. Would that be okay?”
Demetrius nodded. “That would be excellent. We need to understand her story, too, even as we work to figure out the Monacan ties to our church.”
“I’ll get started right away,” I said as I eyed the juicy veggie burger with onion rings and barbecue sauce that the waitress slid in front of me. “After I eat this burger of course.”
“And Paisley, maybe you can write about Earnestine in your newsletter, give her a little homage about what you find,” Mary suggested.
I smiled. “I’d love that, but of course, I’ll run anything by you. I want to be sure what I write is accurate but also appropriate in terms of the church’s history and mission.”
“Thanks for that,” Demetrius said as he picked up his burger. “Now, Sheriff, tell me the latest news about town.”
From there, the conversation veered to talk about the new housing development that was still in discussions at the edge of town, the recent interest in skateboarding that had meant teenagers were using the mostly empty library parking lot to do their tricks, and the sheriff’s offices latest efforts to help support a local community effort to create a robust after-school program.
I listened to Santiago share things I already knew and let myself simply admire him for how good he was at his job. This afternoon was going to be tough, and it was nice to escape into the daily for just a little bit while I enjoyed some amazing food.
Soon, though, we needed to head back to open up the parish house and prepare for the Chief’s arrival. So Demetrius paid our bill and received sincere thanks from the rest of us before we made a quiet walk back to the church. When we arrived, the parking lot was full, and we all exchanged looks of concern. It seemed the rumor mill had already begun.
But I couldn’t see anyone near the manse itself, so Mary stepped into the church to see what was going on. A few moments later, she returned to join us on the house porch and said, “The congregation is inside praying.”
Tears sprung to my eyes. “For this meeting?”
Mary nodded and swallowed. “For us.”
“We are good people,” Demetrius said and then followed Santiago under the police tape and through the front door.
By tacit agreement, we all waited at the front door. No one wanted to stand outside in the sun and where the passing cars might wonder about a group lingering far more than a full parking lot, given how the church was a usual gathering places for all sorts of events and groups. It was just before three, and I expected no one would be late.
I was right. At exactly three, two cars pulled into the lot, and three people stepped out. I expected the woman in the suit to be the DHR representative, and I wasn’t wrong. She introduced herself as Eliza Dixon when she came in.
Dr. Harmon walked beside an older woman in a long shift dress toward the building.
“Chief Stephenson,” Mary greeted her as soon as they came in to join us. “Thank you for coming. I wish it could be under more pleasant circumstances.”
“Believe it or not, as hard as this is, I am glad to be here, glad you have moved kindly and quickly. So in that sense, this is pleasant.” Her voice was soft but clear, and I recognized the voice of a woman who expected honor and didn’t have to manipulate to get attention or respect. I was impressed.
“Could you please show me to the basement?” she asked. “I understand it has a dirt floor, and if my ancestors are here, I want to pay them respect first thing.”
Mary nodded. “Of course,” she said and led the way down the creaky steps. Once we were all there, Chief Stephenson knelt to the ground, placed her palms down, and grew silent. We stood, heads bowed around her, until she rose again.
“Thank you,” she said. “Now, may I see the journal?”
“Absolutely. It’s upstairs.” She turned to me. “Paisley, do you mind getting us some chairs from the fellowship hall?”
“Sure thing,” I said.
“I’ll help,” Santiago said as he and Demetrius followed me across the parking lot to the backdoor and down into the basement below the sanctuary. We grabbed six chairs from the rack at the edge of the room and made our way back to set them up in the front parlor of the house.
Once we were all seated, Chief Stephenson opened up the journal to the pages Mary had marked and read. Tears sprung to her eyes at one point, but she didn’t stop reading. Then, she looked up and said, “Thank you.”
For a few moments, we all sat in silence, allowing the chief to gather her thoughts and lead the conversation. I don’t know what I expected her to say, but I was completely surprised when she began with, “How are you honoring Ms. Earnestine’s sacrifice?”
I sighed. “I am going to research her life, see what else I can find out about her, write about her.”
“Good,” she said, “because she was murdered, don’t we think?”
Everyone around the room except Ms. Dixon nodded. “Murdered?” she asked.
“Earnestine’s journal ends on the day she says she is going to tell the church leadership about the burial ground,” Mary said as she looked at Santiago. “We don’t know for sure, but yes, we think she might have been killed.”
“People have been murdered for exposing less onerous forms of truth,” Chief Stephenson said with a weight of knowing that felt palpable. “I’m glad you are looking into her life and death.”
Demetrius asked, “And how would you like us to proceed to determine if your ancestors are buried here?”
Chief Stephenson smiled. “I appreciate that question and the steps you have already taken on the presumption that they are. I assure you that this is a burial ground. After I received Dr. Harmon’s call this morning, I went into the scant records we have, and I was, well — pleased isn’t exactly the right word —heartened to find that we have records showing people as buried here in Octonia. No exact spot is noted, but I feel it is far too much of a coincidence to say this isn’t their resting place.”
I took a deep breath. I agreed with her, but my voice in this conversation was not important. So I simply nodded.
“Agreed,” Demetrius said. “We will operate with this certainty then.” I felt a finality of the situation sink into the room, but it appeared everyone, even Ms. Dixon agreed.
“I will file a formal report tomorrow then. While I’m here, I’ll georeference the location of the house to our cemeteries map, and by tomorrow afternoon, this ground will be marked as sacred and therefore protected from any further disturbance.”
“Thank you,” Chief Stephenson said again, and I couldn’t help but think it odd that she was thanking us for trying to restore something that never should have been destroyed in the first place.
“How would you like us to handle the house? It was slated to be demolished starting Tuesday.” Mary said.
Chief Stephenson paused and seemed to think for a moment. “I pondered that thought all the way over the mountain today, and I think we would like for it to be removed. I will confirm that with the Tribal Council tonight, but yes, I think we would like to be able to visit their graves without the house between us, especially since the church had plans to take down the building anyway.”
“Then once you confirm, we will proceed,” Demetrius said.
“And the Nation will split the expense of doing so with you,” Chief Stephenson said.
“Respectfully, I must decline. Please let us do this act of reparation for you. We would want the same for our ancestors.”
Chief Stephenson smiled and inclined her head. “Very well. Let me talk to the Council, and we can proceed if, as I suspect, they agree with this plan.”
With the beginnings of a plan in mind, we stood and headed back outside to talk while Ms. Dixon used her phone to walk the perimeter of the manse yard and then the church itself.
While Demetrius and Dr. Harmon talked about the church’s history, I approached Chief Stephenson. “Chief Stephenson, would you mind if I researched the history of this land after your people were here? See if I can figure out how this terrible situation came to be?”
“Please call me Amanda, and yes, that would be wonderful. It seems unlikely that someone didn’t know something at some point.”
I smiled. “I hope so. I’ll let Dr. Harmon know what I find?”
“Or just email me.” She took a business card out of her bag. “I’m an internet junky.”
* * *
When we left the churchyard, the members were still inside praying, and something about that felt powerful, strong. I wasn’t sure how I thought prayer worked, but the fact that dozens of people were taking the time to think about this hard, hard situation gave me a lot of hope. For the first time since yesterday morning, I felt joy bump around in my chest.
Santiago and I chatted about what we were going to do next as he drove me home, and while I knew all of this was a huge deal for him professionally, he also seemed a little lighter, a little more optimistic.
“I’m off shift in about thirty minutes, so would it be awkward if I stayed at your place for a few hours and did some research while you did yours?” he asked.
“I’d love that,” I said and meant it. One of the things I’d always enjoyed most about college was the way that you could be with someone – reading, researching, writing – but not have to talk. That kind of companionship was always energizing to me. “Would it be most helpful to you if I started with Earnestine’s history?”
He nodded. “I think so. That’s the actual potential murder involved here. The violation of sacred burial grounds is illegal, too, but given that the person who committed that crime is probably long dead, I think it’s best to focus on the crime we might be able to prosecute.”
“Makes sense to me,” I said as we pulled into my driveway. “Sawyer is coming home in a couple of hours, so let’s make the most of this time. I’ll put in a frozen pizza, and then we can play with him before he goes to bed. Sound okay?”
“Perfect,” Santiago said, and I felt my heart get a little gooey at this man who didn’t hesitate to interrupt his plans for a preschooler. He grabbed a bag from the back of his car and followed me inside.
